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“You need to get a handle on your dietary needs,” Alexis kidded.
“How long have you known me?” Maggie asked innocently.
“I could say ‘way too long,’ but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” Alexis gave her a grin.
“Gee, thanks. You’re such a pal.”
“Like the note says, get busy. We need to pull our stuff together pronto!” This time it was Eileen who was bossing them around.
“Aye-aye, captain!” Maggie saluted, scooted to her room and then stopped abruptly. “We don’t have any resort clothes with us.”
Alexis was still holding the envelope in her hand. “Wait, there is another envelope in here. Inside is a thousand-dollar gift card with another note.” She read the note aloud. “ ‘Buy some appropriate clothing. I don’t want you to look like you just fell off a turnip truck. ’ ”
“Who me?” Maggie said defensively. The two other women laughed.
“As we were discussing earlier, you’re not known for your fashion sense.” Eileen laughed.
Maggie stuck out her tongue. “Well, all we really need are bathing suits and a couple of sundresses. I think I can figure that out.”
Alexis sent a thank-you message to Annie, as did Maggie and Eileen. Then the women hustled, as instructed. They gathered up their things and skipped down the hallway to the waiting elevator. As promised, a car was waiting to take them for a much-deserved weekend of pampering, sun, and sand.
Miami
Fielder had filled out all the required paperwork before he was able to drive his new car off the lot. At the moment, it was technically still a test drive until the final approvals came through. After he left the dealership, he drove the car through Coral Gables to see how many other people had a similar vehicle. He only spotted one and it was a few years older than his model. He was tempted to try to talk his way into one of the gated communities like Star Island or Hibiscus Island, but thought better of it. It would take only one phone call from security to have the Miami-Dade police asking him questions. Not a good way to end the day. Instead, he pulled up to Bagatelle on Collins Avenue, making a big fuss with the valet about being careful with his car. Unfortunately most of the valets were accustomed to obnoxious patrons and Fielder was no exception. He sauntered into the exclusive eatery and slipped a fifty-dollar bill into the hostess’s hand. It was the only way he was going to get a table without a reservation. He ordered an expensive bottle of wine and flirted with several women who were sitting at a nearby table. Before he paid the check he asked the waiter to deliver his business card to the table of nubile females. On the back he wrote: Party. Tomorrow. Six. Venetian Marina. Yacht named “Superlative.”
It would have been more gallant if he had bought them a drink, but chivalry was not in his wheelhouse. There was no room. His overblown ego took up all the space.
Now it was a new day. His yacht was secured at the marina and he was on his way to give it a good look. As he crossed the Venetian Causeway he was riding an enormous high. Everything was falling into place for him. His only complaint was his office in Santo Domingo, which he rarely visited. If he kept bringing in new work he might suggest moving the office to a much more luxurious island. He’d promise larger contracts and a wider reach. It was entirely possible, but he knew he would have to actually do some real work. But it would be worth it. In five years he could retire to the South of France or Barbados or wherever he wanted to be. With all the jobs he had lined up and with Walsh doing his bidding, the world would be his oyster.
As he approached the marina his excitement was off the charts. Sexual ecstasy couldn’t match what he was feeling at that particular moment. Two crew members dressed in official regalia were positioned at the top of the gangway to his yacht.
“Welcome aboard, sir. I’m Captain Reggie Tucker. A pleasure to meet you in person, sir.”
Malcolm shook the captain’s hand. “Indeed.”
Captain Tucker proceeded to introduce Fielder to First Mate Douglass Walters. “A pleasure, sir. Shall I give you the tour, sir?” Tucker asked.
“Certainly,” Malcolm replied. He had seen the boat weeks earlier, but now that it was going to be his, he wanted to familiarize himself with all the amenities.
They started in the grand salon and made their way to the master suite, fully appointed with a king-size bed. The VIP suite was on the forward deck and there were also two guest suites, one on the port and the other on the starboard side. The lounge featured a bar with six stools, a circular sofa and a large LED television and a Bose sound system. It would be a vacation home on the seas. Enough space for a half dozen people to be completely comfortable. Malcolm met the rest of the crew, including the engineer, who made his home in the underbelly of the boat. The engine room was even more pristine than the galley. No one was allowed to wear their shoes in the room in order to keep all dirt particles from the intricate electronics. Booties were issued to anyone going below deck.
Malcolm made his way to the bow, where he stood looking out at all the other vessels. He felt like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. He was the king of the world. For now.
Crew members began to assist the caterer who was setting up glassware and the bar. Satisfied things were going as planned, Malcolm bid everyone adieu, saying he was looking forward to the soiree that evening. As he walked along the pier he eyed the other yachters to see what they were wearing. It was nothing like he expected. Most had on chino pants, with the women in capris. It wasn’t as glamourous as he’d imagined. He wondered if perhaps they dressed more formally in the evening. He pondered what his attire should be. He didn’t want to be over-the-top—but then again it was his party.
Just as he was about to climb into his shiny sports car, one of the people from the catering company came jogging toward him. “Excuse me. Mr. Fielder?”
He stopped and turned. “Yes. What is it?”
“My boss just called and said your credit card was denied.”
“That’s impossible,” he said with a hint of arrogance.
“Would you like to speak with her?”
“Certainly.” He took the cell phone from the young woman’s hand. “This is Fielder. What seems to be the problem?” He listened, but didn’t quite understand what the woman on the other end of the line was telling him. “That’s not possible.” He listened again. “I see. Unfortunately, I don’t have another one on me.” Suddenly he had to back off his arrogance. “If you don’t mind, I can bring another card later this afternoon or pay you by check.” Again, he listened. He thought throwing his family name into the conversation would alleviate the caterer’s concern. “Surely you know my family, the Fielders. The liquor store Fielders.” The color began to return to his face. “Yes. That was my grandfather.” The person on the other end said a few more words and Malcolm responded with, “I am terribly sorry for this issue. A total misunderstanding, I can assure you, and I will get it resolved by this evening. Thank you for your consideration. Yes, here she is.” He handed the young woman her phone. “It’s all been arranged.” Then he got into his car in a slightly less jovial mood.
When he got back on the causeway, he resisted the temptation to floor the accelerator. A speeding ticket would send him over the edge. He hurriedly parked, taking up two spaces in the lot of his condo building. He didn’t want some guileless idiot putting a ding into that beautiful metallic paint, especially since he wasn’t yet the official owner. He would have to pay for the damages in full.
